Great Revelations in an Aptly Named Hall
by coleytaylor
Summary: In which Hermione knows what's up before Harry does. Sort of. The entirety of the work takes place in the Great Hall. Hence the name. I've added a second chapter with the events from Malfoy's POV.
1. Chapter 1

I am American, so apologies for that. (constructive) criticism is welcome.

* * *

Malfoy was up to something. Well, he was always up to something, but whatever it was seemed more nefarious than usual this time. It made sense, really, that as they got older his schemes became all the more convoluted and actually edged into the realm of dangerous. Harry pondered this as he stared at Malfoy's head across the great hall. He could only see the back of it, though, which was unfortunate. Sometimes, when Malfoy sat on the other side of the Slytherin table, Harry's eyes would dart away at the very last second before he was caught staring, and it filled him with a rush of adrenaline every time. The whole situation sort of reminded him of the times he would catch girls looking at him, when they weren't able to draw their eyes away in time. He squashed this thought immediately though, as the kind of staring he was doing was definitely not akin to Romilda Vane's heart-eyed glances.

Harry stabbed at his toast absent-mindedly instead of spreading anything on it and sighed. He was still looking at the back of that blond head, like it was a puzzle he just couldn't decipher. Then, someone was shaking his shoulder. Ron broke his reverie.

"Hey, Harry!"

"Oh, er, sorry," he said, somewhat sheepishly.

"We were trying to get your attention for ages, Harry," Hermione said.

"Yeah, mate, what were you staring at?" He wasn't blushing. This actually wasn't happening. He took a deep breath.

"I think Malfoy's up to something." The words had hardly left his mouth before Ron and Hermione were both groaning. Hermione actually rolled her eyes at him.

"Harry, we've talked about this ad nauseum. You think something's up, and everyone sane thinks there's no proof."

"No, it's just– I can't get him off my mind." That was probably not a good thing to say. "I mean, I just can't stop thinking about him." That was worse. Well, it was true, but not something he felt like admitting to himself, much less to anyone else. He could practically see the cogs spinning in Hermione's head. Her eyes widened with understanding.

"Ron," she hissed. "Can I have a word?"

"No one's listening, Hermione." He gestured to the mostly empty Gryffindor table. "Can't you just say it here?"

"No, I mean–" She grabbed him by the arm and stood up. "Just a moment, Harry." This was not good. Unless Hermione suddenly felt the need to drag Ron off and confess her love for him in a very mushy fashion and had wanted to spare Harry the trauma (unlikely), it was something to do with his obsession with Malfoy. Perhaps he had been staring a little more than usual lately. But it was only because of his growing suspicions. After all, Malfoy was a very suspicious individual. And anyway, what exactly did Hermione think was going on here? That he had a crush on him or something? Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, enamored with a potential (probable) (definite) Death Eater? It was preposterous. Well, he could see how Hermione might think that it wasn't. She wasn't called the smartest witch of their age for nothing. And all the classic signs were there: constant staring, talking about him all the time, ignoring romantic pursuits of Romilda Vane et al. (although, who wouldn't?), even the charged banter they exchanged on a regular basis.

Well, there was a first time for everything. Hermione was wrong. Harry was interested in what was under Malfoy's robes, yes–but only his left sleeve. And any sexual tension between them was nothing but the work of raging teenage hormones.

Ron and Hermione waltzed back into the Great Hall. Ron had a strange sort of grimace on his face, but Hermione was the picture of tact. She sat down smoothly next to him, and Ron took a seat across the table.

"Harry, is there anything you would like to tell us?" She gave him a pointed look. He didn't really pick up on it.

"Yeah, I think I know how we can get Malfoy to reveal his dark mark..." he said, distractedly. He scanned the Slytherin table out of habit, but it looked like Malfoy had left while Ron and Hermione were gone.

"Don't you think you spend rather a lot of time talking about him? And you must spend even more time thinking about him."

"How else am I supposed to find out what he's up to?" This was an argument he had had with himself many times. Hermione sighed resolutely. She didn't speak for a moment, and Harry thought this whole thing was finally over. He was very wrong.

"He is, er, quite attractive, isn't he?" She didn't sound as though she particularly thought this herself. Ron didn't believe it either. He broke out into a coughing fit that sounded suspiciously like concealed laughter, but straightened up after a glare from Hermione.

"Malfoy?" Harry thought back to his silvery hair. His sharp sneer, or the way the corner of lips quirked up when he smirked. His lips... "I dunno." Well, that was a lie. Now that Hermione had put these thoughts in his head, he couldn't get them out.

"Well, you spend enough time looking at him," Ron muttered, almost low enough so that Harry and Hermione couldn't hear him. Almost. If looks could kill, Ron would have been deader than Voldemort's sense of remorse. "I mean, I am glad that you are following your heart." The first thing Harry registered was that it sounded kind of rehearsed. And then he got to the part about following your heart. His first instinct was to refute these outrageous claims, but he allowed himself to think things through before responding. Was this really such a terrible thing to admit to? It was only Ron and Hermione; there was no doubt his secret would be safe with them. This was really no more embarrassing than the time Hermione had turned into a cat in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, or Ron's awful dress robes for the Yule Ball. Okay, maybe it was. But Ron had just said that he was okay with this, in a roundabout way, and clearly Hermione was too. The real question was, was Harry?

Too much time had passed after Ron had said the bit about following his heart to simply brush of the allegations now. Anything he said to that effect would sound forced and fake, and it would be just that. He took a deep breath.

"Okay. My heart may be leading me to Draco Malfoy." There was a loaded silence. Ron and Hermione exchanged a look.

"I did not expect that to be so easy," Hermione said, finally relaxing. She smiled at him. "I'm so glad you've been able to come to terms with your feelings."

"No, this is not– Don't you see? He's evil. He's getting ready to join up with Voldemort, and I'm sitting in the Great Hall, moping about, and– This is not a good thing!"

"Harry, he's only a teenager. _We're_ only teenagers. He's not You-Know-Who, or a Horcrux, or the absolute embodiment of evil. He's a boy!" Harry wasn't really listening.

"How am I supposed to do it, how am I supposed to find all the Horcruxes, save the wizarding world, how can I do it if I can't even stop thinking about Malfoy like, like that long enough to find out what he's really up to?" This would not, could not be his downfall, but it already was.

"You'll have time for all that later." Hermione put her hand on his shoulder firmly. She was talking like Mrs. Weasley, or Professor Mcgonagall. It gave the words she spoke the effect of being rational, grounded, and hard to object to. "But right now, you're a sixteen-year-old boy. Enjoy this while you can. To be young and in love is a magical thing." She looked nervously over to Ron at this last bit, and his ears turned bright red.

"Yeah, mate, go for it," Ron said. Harry laughed.

"I hate to break it to you guys, but I'm pretty sure this whole thing is unreciprocated." Ron took a sip of pumpkin juice just so he could spit it out in surprise.

"Don't even get me started on this. Have you ever heard a conversation between the two of you? Don't answer that. I have. I feel like I should look away or something because of the sheer sexual tension alive between you two at any given moment."

Hermione spoke over Harry's indignant protests. "Seriously, the sparks between you two are actually getting dangerous. You could set something on fire, really. You ought to be careful. I rather like this castle." Harry took a moment to reflect on his interactions with Malfoy over the last six years. A great many of them were heated arguments, and a few were actual physical brawls. Yes, _full_ of sexual charge. Although, in recent years, he did see how some of their banter could be construed as such. Misconstrued, of course. Well, maybe construed. There was no point denying it any more.

"Okay, okay. I get how you might see that. A little."

"A little? Harry, you could power half of England with the sparks flying."

"Alright, I get it. Resolve the sexual tension before something dangerous happens. Horcruxes later." That was a tall order, not even including the Horcruxes part of the equation. An odd feeling in his stomach sort of crept up on him, and it was not his breakfast, which lay mostly untouched on his plate. The fluttering sensation was not butterflies, because that would be terribly clichéd. It was nerves. Nerves of the pleasant sort, a breed of which he did not have much practical knowledge. No, he was more accustomed to the kind one gets before facing down a Hungarian Horntail, or dueling with a powerful dark wizard. But he could get used to this other type. He had a feeling he would gain a lot of experience with it in the year to come.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I thought this was going to be a one-shot. I really did. This is Malfoy's POV of the events that take place in the first chapter.**

"What?"

Pansy was smirking devilishly across the breakfast table.

"What is it?"

"Potter's staring at you again," she said, jerking her chin towards the Gryffindor table.

Huh. That had been happening a lot, lately. He hadn't exactly been off Potter's radar for the previous five years, but this was an escalation.

"Ugh."

He always feigned annoyance, but that was just it: he wasn't annoyed. Not in the slightest. Secretly, he relished these stares, relished the knowledge that Potter's eyes were trained on the back of his head, or the times when the other boy thought he had looked away quickly enough. His eyes really were as green as a fresh-pickled toad, Draco mused.

"The git probably thinks I'm up to something, as usual."

It was a law of nature that Harry Potter would think Draco Malfoy up to something, but this time he was right. Draco did not take any pleasure in the work he had been doing this year. Preparing the vanishing cabinet so that Death Eaters could storm the castle, and making attempts on Albus Dumbledore's life, all the with the Dark Lord practically breathing down his neck. He was tired all the time, and it showed in the bags under his eyes and the dull sallowness of his already pale skin. The one upshot of all the plotting, though, was that it caught Potter's attention.

Moments ago, he had been glaring furiously at his toast, but now he could barely contain a grin. This was highly embarrassing. He had to leave right away before he did something idiotic.

On the way out of the Great Hall, Draco couldn't help but notice that a certain red-haired Gryffindor and his mudblood girlfriend were missing from the table. Out in the entrance hall, he saw them. They were huddled in a corner, conversing in hurried whispers. He walked over and hid behind a pillar.

He heard his name. Other than that he could only pick up fragments, like "definitely can tell" or "needs to do something about it" and they fueled his curiosity. He crept closer, hoping that they were so involved in their conversation that they wouldn't notice.

"–sure about this? I mean, Harry was definitely into Cho Chang," Weasley was saying.

"Yes, yes, he was desperately in love with Cho, but things didn't pan out."

"But he would never– He thinks Malfoy's a Death Eater!"

Draco's hand jumped to his left wrist. It was a sort of nervous tic of his. He toyed with his sleeve and slunk further into the shadows.

"Well, clearly Harry's not too worried. You must see it, Ron, the look he gets in his eyes."

"I dunno, Hermione, if you say so."

They were talking about him. And Harry Potter. In what capacity, it was hard to be sure.

"I do say so. Don't you think we should say something?"

"Yeah, tell him to get his head on straight?"

"No, I mean tell him that we'll support him, no matter what. We _will_ support him no matter what. Right, Ron?"

Draco could envision the death glare Granger was giving right about now.

"Of course, I didn't mean– Only that his choices are a little strange," Weasley said somewhat sheepishly.

"Well, I think Malfoy's about as strange a choice as Lavender Brown."

Granger was clearly jealous, but that was beside the point. He, Draco Malfoy, was being talked about in the same context as Weasley's girlfriend. However, if he had learned anything over the years, it was to keep his expectations low. He would have to collect more intel to be sure.

Weasley made a strangled noise.

"So, all you have to do is look encouraging. I'll do the talking," Granger said brusquely, and before he could move out of the way, they were walking past him and back into the hall. He tried in vain to appear busy doing something other than eavesdropping, and Weasley gave him a strange look.

There was no point in lingering further. He sighed and began the descent to the dungeons. Even if Potter was harboring a crush on him–he had no concrete proof–things could never, would never work out for them. It was no big secret; Harry Potter was enemy number one of the Dark Lord to whom Draco swore allegiance. Every stolen moment he spent working on the vanishing cabinet or the assassination plot was another nail in Potter's coffin.

He tried to rationalize his behavior by reminding himself that he was just another gear in the machine; if he didn't do it, someone else would. It was cold comfort.

Emotions were at war inside of him. How could he engage in, much less pursue, these mushy feelings about Potter when he was actively working towards the demise of the very same boy? But he didn't have a choice. It was too late now, he and his family were in too deep, and the only way to avoid getting killed himself was to allow the death of others. He knew it was cowardly, that it was ignoble, but it was his only option.

After all this, after the castle siege and the assassination, Draco was going straight. Well, as straight as one can be with the Dark Lord operating out of one's own house. Draco almost laughed at this thought. Being gay was making him contemplate going straight.


End file.
